Page 8 of Stalked By Raiden

His mouth twitches. “I don’t. Mostly. But I’ll try not to traumatize you.”

She gasps dramatically. “I knew it.”

For the first time, I see the faintest hint of a smile appear as River gestures toward his room.

Sarah looks back at me. “If I scream, ignore me.”

“You’ll be fine,” I say with a wide smile.

“I know.” She winks at me. “But screaming builds suspense.”

I shake my head as she disappears into River’s room. I know she’ll breeze through the process the same way she does everything. Nadia turns toward the last door.

“Raiden?”

A quiet voice answers. “Come in.”

She opens it and steps aside for me. “This is Elodie.”

I look up and forget every coherent thought I’d ever had.

He stands a few steps from the doorway of his private room, and something inside me clenches tight and hot. Pale blue eyes, impossibly vivid, framed by dark lashes and heavy brows. His black hair, slightly too long, falls messily across his forehead, making my fingers itch to push it back.

He wears a fitted black T-shirt that strains against his lean, muscled shoulders. Sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and inked with intricate designs that look like armbands. Light scruff shadows his strong jaw.

Despite his inviting features, an air of danger surrounds him. Almost daring someone to cross him. I should want to flee; instead, I want to stand near him and discover his story. His full lips are unsmiling, and when his gaze finds mine, I feel it everywhere.

“Elodie?” Nadia’s voice comes from somewhere distant.

I can’t look away. Those blue eyes pin me in place, liquid heat pooling between my thighs, my pulse thundering in my ears. I’m aware of my own lips parting, of the sudden sensitivity of my skin. The way my nipples have tightened against my bra without my permission.

“Elodie,” Nadia says again, sharper now.

I blink, the room rushing back in a wave of mortification.

“Oh, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t hear,” I stutter, my cheeks hot.

Nadia watches me with knowing brown eyes. And Raiden still stares at me with a penetrating gaze that seems to see straight through my clothes, my composure, and my carefully constructed walls.

My face burns. I drop my head, staring at the black-and-white checkered floor, wishing I could dissolve into it.

“I’ll take it from here, Nadia.” His voice draws my attention and gaze back to him. “Follow me.”

I don’t hear Nadia leave. His voice is like smoke and gravel, pulling me, and it sends a shiver down my spine. It settles into a heavy and insistent ache between my legs.

I follow, acutely aware of every step. All I can think about is that he’ll soon have his hands on my bare skin. The thought alone makes me wet, makes me squeeze my thighs together as I walk, seeking friction that isn’t there.

No one has ever made me feel this raw, helpless heat that turns my thoughts to static and my knees to water. His tattoo room is small, intimate. A black leather chair dominates the center, surrounded by equipment and supplies.

He closes the door behind us, and the click of the latch seems to echo in the sudden privacy. He turns to look directly at me, and I realize I’ve been staring.

Heat floods my face. “Oh.” I look down immediately. “I’m sorry.”

A low chuckle reaches my ears. “Let me see it.”

I unfold the paper and hand it to him, suddenly aware of how soft the creases have gone from all the times I've opened it today. A tiny lavender sprig. My mother grew lavender in pots on the back porch of every house we ever rented, and it was the only thing she never managed to kill. Sarah let me choose. For a second, I smile, suddenly reminded of the reason I’m here. The significance of my choices.

He studies it far longer than I expect. “You draw this?”